Phil Collins Hang Over
by SBs alive
Summary: ..."There are different levels of hang-over. Mild, bad, very bad, painful, semi-paranoid, paranoid, mandolin and so forth. The worst of all, however, is Phil Collins –hang-over."... James is not having a good day.
1. The Morning After

**Phil Collins -Hang-Over **

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JKR does. A big surprise to everyone, I'm sure.

I do not own Pasila. It was produced by Filmiteollisuus and it belongs to YLE TV2.

Warning: Rating for swearwords.

AN1: I got the idea for this when I was, once again, watching Pasila (Finnish animation for adults about the (not really) everyday life on a police station), an idea of writing a Marauder –fic based on a single episode of the show was born. Encouraged by my sister, who really should know better by now, I proceeded to translate the _Phil Collins –darra _into English and then to adapt the storyline to suit my purposes. (Later on, I bought the DVD, and found out that the episode was available there with English subtitles.)

Though I have (obviously) made some major changes, much of the dialogue is directly from the _Phil Collins –darra _and the storyline follows (loosely) the one of the episode, as well. I would like to repeat that I do not claim any of the dialogue or the plot of the original story. A lot of stuff in this is, however, produced in the diseased mush I like to call brain, and I really am quite proud of this one.

AN2: This is the second and edited version of this fic. It's (hopefully) also better than the first version. Why don't you tell me what you thought?

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**Chapter 1 − The Morning-After **

The first of November was dawning bright over the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _Extremely_ bright, to be more specific.

In the Gryffindor tower, the current Head Boy, James Potter, groaned incomprehensibly as a ray of sunlight found its way through a gap of his four-poster –bed's hangings.

"Mmmlph," James mumbled and attempted to muster the strength to roll over a bit, so that the light would not hit him directly in the eyes.

What _was_ that bloody light anyway? James' agonised brain felt incapable of producing a coherent thought. He might as well have been swimming in yesterday's oatmeal with and angry, swearing hedgehog crammed inside his skull.

James drew a steadying breath and forced his eyes open.

"Holy fucking-," he groaned and pulled his blanket over his face.

The Sun. His good-for-nothing arseholes for friends had apparently already left, and what was worse, drawn aside the curtains to allow that bloody sunlight in. Since when did the Sun _ever_ shine in Scotland in November anyway?

James wondered numbly what time it was. He was considering whether he should try and sit up, when the decision was made for him. Something with claws had fluttered through his bed-curtains and was now violently ripping James' blanket. The bewildered Head Boy tried to scramble away from the attacker and proceeded to fall off his bed, tangled in bed sheets. Hands shaking, he reached for his glasses, and the screeching, greyish blur focused into a pissed-off owl, which dropped a flaming red envelope on James and flew away.

Professor McGonagall's irritated voice filled the room:

"Why aren't you in the Great Hall already? You were supposed to instruct the Prefects at 7.30! A young man, just lying in bed, sleeping off his hang-over when he should be working! A wussy softie for a man! About to get expelled, too! I can smell the booze all the way to here! A horrible stench of booze is drifting down the stairs! Now, get to work!"

The Howler was reduced to ashes. James' ears were ringing, and the hedgehog inside his head had apparently invited its friends over and they had then taken up river dance. Confused as he was agonised by McGonagall's incoherent message, James blacked out again in a tangle of sheets and curtains, drooling on the carpet.

_x~x_

"James. _James!_""

Sirius' voice woke James up. For a while he was puzzled, gingerly looking around for his friend, until he realised that the voice was coming from a mirror under his bed.

James reached for the mirror with some effort.

"Whazzit, Sirius?"

"Now, honestly, James, do come down, before McGonagall blows up."

"Sirius, I have a hang-over. It's a really terrible hang-over. Yesterday, Hog's Head was open. There was booze for sale. It could be exchanged for money. You can guess the rest."

"I _know_, James. I was there, remember? Come down."

"I'll quit school. I'm so sick of all this routine. I'll sell everything I own and set off – to sea. I'll move to Guatemala and start to paint pictures. I'll eat only grass, that'll be enough for me. It's settled now."

"Oh yeah?" On James' opinion Sirius sounded entirely too amused for a person, whose best friend was in horrible pain. The mutt's grey eyes sparkled with poorly concealed mirth as he continued: "And when do you plan on leaving?"

James was silent for a moment. Then he sighed:

"Well – okay. I'll come downstairs, but I can't do anything today. I have a hang-over. And I can't come by myself, either."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll ask Remus to come and get you."

James spent some time disentangling himself from his sheets and then he turned his Wizarding Wireless on. He was half-heartedly trying to locate some semi-clean clothes, while listening to the morning show. _Why_ exactly he listened to it was a bit of a mystery, since it was probably meant for the middle-aged (or over), whose lives were about as eventful and exciting as a bowl of porridge.

"Really sunny, wonderfully frisky morning again to the entire nation. And good morning especially to you, adventurer and social-life instructor, Gilderoy Lockhart." The host's soft voice was unusually high for a man and it gave the impression that he was talking to a bunch of cranky idiots.

"Morning!" the guest answered, in an overly energetic fashion that annoyed James immediately.

"Mor-ning," James said sarcastically.

"Gilderoy, your brand new book is called: _Sometimes It Is Good to Climb a Mountain_. Gilderoy, this is rather a trail-blazing book."

"Thank you."

"Thank – you," James spat, more annoyed by the minute.

"This book was born from an observation that arguing is a safe way to approach another human being," Lockhart said.

"Quite an exciting theory."

"Quite an exciting theory," James repeated mockingly, unaware of how ridiculous his behaviour was for a boy of seventeen.

Lockhart continued:

"In my own life I have noticed that when somebody gets angry with me, I'll right away become, you know, curled up. That is, that's what happened before I understood that the people are not the problem. The other one is just plain wrong."

"So arguing is a process?"

"It is a process."

"How wonderful that it is a process."

"My motto to everyone is: 'You can dare!'"

James had listened to the conversation with an accumulating desire to vomit or destroy something. He attempted to turn the Wireless off, but the blasted thing sprouted legs and skittered away from his reach.

"You can dare, you have to dare to dare!"

"I want to dare, too!"

"You _can_ dare!"

James lunged at the Wireless, but missed. He threw an empty bottle at it, but that failed to silence it.

"How wonderful that I can dare. Everyone can dare!"

"Not everyone can dare. You'll have to dare to talk and listen, too. To both directions."

"Don't say street!" James hissed.

"Communication is a two-way... sort of like..."

"Don't say that street!" James nearly screamed, throwing a huge transfiguration book at the Wireless, which had continued to skillfully elude him. He missed with over a foot, a thoroughly embarrassing performance from the best Chaser Hogwarts had seen in ages.

"...Street."

"He said 'street'!" James howled and slumped to the floor out of sheer exasperation. His fingers met something round and wooden.

"And that it is, exactly." The host was obviously more taken with this Lockhart person that would have been strictly speaking healthy. "Gilderoy, let's talk about the first chapter of your book. It's called: _In Our House, We Argue And We Love_."

James' alcohol-soaked brain realised what the wooden object was. In a split of a second he had grabbed his wand and blown the Wireless to a million tiny pieces.

_x~x_

Remus entered the dormitory to find James sitting on the floor, his head resting against Peter's nightstand. The dormitory looked even messier than it usually did.

"Morning," Remus said cheerfully.

"Mning," James mumbled and struggled to his feet.

"That morning-show ruins my life," James said as they descended to the Common Room.

"Why do you listen to it, then?" Remus asked.

"It's sometimes good. My Wireless broke down. Oh how, you ask. Well, I broke it. Blew it up. Accidentally. How are you doing?"

"Is your hang-over _that_ bad?" Remus' expression was hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

"I don't have a hang-over," James snapped, and then winced. He had better not to move his head too quickly. "I just had a little lie-in. Wasn't exactly the first time. Overslept a bit. I don't have a hang-over. Talking on and on for my own amusement. Well, yeah, I _do_ have a hang-over, stop preaching about it!"

Remus' expression settled for 'concern' and he decided not to say anything. James was clearly having a bad day. On the other hand, the situation _was_ rather hilarious. Remus climbed out of the portrait hole and hid an evil snigger from his even-more-than-usual dishevelled friend.

"Hey, you!" Remus yelled sharply.

"What, what, what, _what_?" James whimpered, rubbing his temples.

"That girl just threw a dung-bomb down the corridor."

"Oh come on. There's no need to lecture her." James was leaning on Remus rather heavily.

"_She threw a dung-bomb down the corridor_," Remus repeated, struggling to keep them both upright. It was quite clear that James did not want to waste energy to standing by himself, if he had Remus to do it for him.

"We won't persecute people for just one mistake," James said. "I'm sure it was an accident. She was probably just lost in thought. There's a lot to think about in the world, these days. Fear of Voldemort is gnawing her head."

"But she threw-"

"It's just some miserable no-life. If you take away her dung-bombs, there'll be nothing left in her life. A little compassion, Remus, I thought you of all people would have a little compassion." James decided to support his own weight for a chance and started to pull the smaller boy along the corridor.

"You are just hung-over and lazy," Remus grumbled, but gave over nevertheless.

_x~x_

"_Bloody hell, WHAT are you doing?_" Remus yelled.

"What are _you_ doing?" James squealed.

"That bloody idiot is flying like 100 miles per hour flinging around... what... paint-bombs!"

"Who is?"

"Whom do you think? Sirius, of course! Open your eyes!" Remus snapped.

James opened his eyes. The corridor, and the unfortunate students in it, had been bombed with rainbow-paint that changed colour every few seconds.

"So you say it was Padfoot?" James asked.

"Yes! We've got to give him detention for this."

"And chase him down? On foot? Don't be ridiculous."

James pulled the two-way mirror out of his pocket.

"Sirius. Hey, it's me. What the hell do you think you are doing, flying around the corridors throwing paint-bombs at people? People could _die_, Sirius! Well, yeah, I understand, with a new bomb brand and- What? _That new_? What's the trick? Won't come off? For how long? Seriously? Not bad!" James noticed a steely glitter in Remus' eyes and hastened to add:

"Well, no more flying inside or throwing those bombs at people. Promise? Can't promise, but you'll try? I always valued your honesty, Padfoot. See you." James pocketed his mirror and turned to Remus.

"See? He obviously learned his lesson."

Remus shook his head.

"People turn just like you when they are hung-over. Completely indifferent."

"Let's not argue."

"I'm not arguing. I'll still give Padfoot detention when I see him, though." Remus grinned somewhat involuntarily. "There's no way he'll _ever_ learn his lesson, but if he's been punished already, there's a chance McGonagall _might_ not splatter his Earthly remains all over the castle..."

_x~x_

"I need food," James muttered as he and Remus arrived in the Entrance Hall.

"Um, James... It's nearly 9 o'clock. The breakfast has been cleared off ages ago," Remus replied.

"Bloody hell!"

"To the kitchens, then," Remus interpreted James' exclamation.

They reached the fruit-bowl –painting remarkably quickly. The prospect of food had apparently given James a reason to move his feet. Remus tickled the pear and they entered the kitchens. The house-elves gathered around them.

"What would young sirs want?" one of them asked.

"A greasy sandwich," James answered.

A dozen house-elves sped to grant his wish. Someone screamed shrilly.

"Goddammit," James groaned, covering his ears.

Remus' jaw dropped. One of the house-elves had abandoned his toga and was now spurting around the kitchen jabbering something very fast. Someone screamed again.

"_Please_, don't scream so loud," James whimpered. "Have you got any idea of how easily rooms in this castle echo?"

"What on Earth is going on?" Remus found his voice again. _Surely_ Sirius had not, _could not_ _have_ been right about the house-elves' orgies...

The elf who brought James a plate of sandwiches explained that apparently a group of students had given the hyper-elf (by the name of Bonny) chocolate-treats, which had included whiskey. James practically inhaled a sandwich and then he muttered a quick spell. Bonny fell asleep on the floor mid- tap dance –performance. The other elves looked rather grateful and hurried to cover up and move aside the now asleep victim of alcohol.

Remus assured the upset elves that Bonny would be all right, though probably very hung-over when he woke up.

"I can relate," James muttered and grabbed one more sandwich for the road. "20 points from Slytherin," he added as an afterthought.

"Why? Didn't both Lily and McGonagall scream to you enough already for docking points off Slytherin for random reasons?" Remus wore his all too familiar 'You are my friend, all right, but your behaviour is thoroughly unacceptable' –expression.

"Oh, come _on_, Moony. I'll bet my broomstick this was done by those pathetic little Death Eater –wannabes. Besides, you've wanted me to sharpen up the whole day, anyway. What do we have first?"

"Charms," Remus replied simply. Taking points from Slytherin without proof was unfair, but he inwardly agreed with James on the culprits, so he let it pass.

_x~x_

"There you are! Awake at last. Totally hung-over, too," professor Minerva McGonagall snapped sharply to James, who had attempted to pass her unnoticed. James turned to face her, cringing visibly.

"You bring shame upon the entire school," McGonagall ranted. "Shame and pain. Pain in the finger. Around the joint. Under the nail and in the knuckle. My finger hurts."

"_What?_" James was dumbstruck. He suddenly recalled McGonagall's more-than-strange morning greeting. Her eyes seemed to be somewhat out of focus.

"It's time to take your medicine, professor," Remus said politely.

"Oh, indeed." She swallowed a pill. "Thank you, Lupin, you may go. Back to the business, then. Excellent job, Potter! Everyone is proud of you."

"_What?_"

"My finger got better, too. Continue!" McGonagall strode down the corridor without another word.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" Remus breathed.

James shook his head, in loss for words.

_x~x_

AN3: Please review and tell me, what you thought about this. Even if your only thought was that I ought to be locked up somewhere without my magic mushrooms.

(And to those who got the joke about the swearing hedgehog: _Kiroileva siili _doesn't belong to me, either.)


	2. Phil Collins Hang Over

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Pasila.

* * *

**Chapter 2 − Phil Collins –Hang-Over**

"James, what's wrong with you? Why aren't you in Charms? Why do you avoid people?" Sirius had apparently decided to skip Charms as well to come and check on James, who was sitting in a corner in an empty classroom.

"What time is it?" James asked.

"Half-past nine."

"Bloody hell! I've got the entire day still ahead of me!" James exclaimed in exasperation.

Sirius sat in front of James and placed his hands on his best friend's shoulders.

"Now, that's not just a hang-over that's bothering you."

"Yes it is."

"_No_, it's not. Tell me."

James sighed.

"Okay, then. Sirius, I have a Phil Collins –hang-over."

"A what?" Sirius rose half-way to his feet. He intended to drag James down to Madam Pomfrey's and have her check again whether James had actually lost it for real.

"A Phil Collins –hang-over. Sit down again."

Sirius sat down.

"Good boy. Padfoot, do you remember that day when I called you Phil Collins all the time?"

"Yes..."

"It wasn't a joke. I had the Phil Collins –hang over. Sirius, there are different levels of hang-over. Mild, bad, very bad, painful, semi-paranoid, paranoid, mandolin and so forth. The worst of all, however, is Phil Collins –hang-over. It's been named after a muggle singer and songwriter, Phil Collins."

"_That _was about the only thing I understood of your story."

"I got acquainted with it a few years ago. For some reason, I had ended up drinking rather heavily with some muggle tourists. That was when you were all somewhere and I had a Friday alone in London before you could meet me. Anyway, those muggles were _insane_. Booze, beer, wine, champagne, we drank everything.

In the morning, I woke up in a muggle hotel with the worst hang-over ever. Without thinking much, I switched the... the what's its... tellyvision on. Phil Collins was singing in there. Well, I had no idea who this Phil Collins guy was, but he started to annoy me at once. I mean, he _is_ annoying as hell."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear where this is going," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"_Anyway_, for a reason I don't know, I watched that for a couple of minutes. Then I left to meet you guys. Outside my room, everyone was Phil Collins. The lady next-room was Phil Collins, her baby was Phil Collins, the receptionist was Phil Collins. Even a dude who looked a bit like Stubby Boardman now looked like Phil Collins.

And it got worse. In the Leaky Cauldron, everyone was Phil Collins. In the Diagon Alley, everyone was Phil Collins. That was horrible! I hit Peter, because he looked like Phil Collins and whistled that tune on top of that. I dumped my summer-fling, because _she, too, looked like Phil Collins_! And it wasn't over until the next day. I decided then that I'll never drink again. Later on, I _did_ drink again, but it doesn't come every time." James stopped to draw breath.

"And that, my friend, is what Phil Collins –hang-over is like." James fell silent.

"Right..." Sirius' eyebrows had risen steadily higher and higher as James' story went on, and they were now on the point of flying off his face. He had expected something pretty strange, but this was a bit... extreme.

"Let me just... digest... that for a while..."

"Sure, go ahead."

"Phil Collins, you say?"

"Yes, Phil Collins. Yep, that's a bloody bad one."

Without another word, Sirius stood up and left the classroom for a while.

_x~x_

Sirius came back after he had pulled himself back together. Apparently his worry of his friend's well-being extended just far enough not to give in to his desire to fall on the floor laughing his head off while he was in the same room with James.

"Prongs, around 72 questions came to my mind concerning that problem of yours, so I cut them down to a few. Is it always Phil Collins?"

"No. The last time, I saw a dancing weatherman on the Prophet. And that day, everyone was a dancing weatherman. And before that, it was that trainee Prophet reporter, Rita Skeeter, who came through my window and started to demand an interview on my life as a rich pure-blood." James grimaced in disgust.

"So they have all been annoying," Sirius smiled fondly, remembering what he had done to Skeeter, when she had come to pester _him_.

"Yes. Phil Collins –hang-over is triggered when an extreme hang-over is combined with an extreme idiot. When you have the Phil Collins –hang-over, you have to be with your own. Family and friends. People you are used to. The unknown are a risk."

"Okay," Sirius said slowly. And the people at Hogwarts thought _he_ was insane. "Yes, Prongs, I want to understand."

"Phil Collins."

"Right, got it."

_x~x_

Sirius had seemed somewhat dubious as to whether he really should leave James on his own, but he had eventually decided that James would really not be a danger to himself. At worst, he would be thoroughly humiliated and Merlin knew that would be nothing new. So Sirius left for his detention and James decided to head for the Room of Requirement for some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, he ran into professor McGonagall again.

"Potter, I've received complaints about you. Firstly, you're drunk."

"Hung-over," James muttered.

"Second, you haven't punished people for rule-breaking, even when it's happened right under your nose."

"I can't notice everything."

"And thirdly, you didn't go to Charms today. Explain yourself at once." McGonagall glared at James rather like a hawk would glare at a particularly cheeky rabbit.

"Are there any chances that you'd give me a day off, professor? Or... should I maybe go to polish the stuff in the Trophy Room? _Anything_ that doesn't include meeting people," James pleaded.

"No way," McGonagall snapped. "You'll go to patrol. The Head Boy maintains the order by patrolling the corridors. Students trust the Head Boy."

James could not help snorting. McGonagall ignored him.

"The Head Boy has credibility. The staff has, too, credit, the staff may buy with credit in the Three Broomsticks. Very handy, and we don't always have to have money on us. Very flexible-"

"Medication, professor," James suggested uncharacteristically timidly.

"Oh, yes." She swallowed a pill. "What were we talking about?"

"The quality of my work," James answered. It was obvious that the professor had absolutely no recollection of her previous rant.

"Was that what we were talking about? Well, bloody good job, Potter! Keep up the good work!"

"What?" Did Minerva McGonagall just... swear? In front of a student, who would forever remember it?

"That'll be good. For your future career. You'll get an Order of Merlin and everything." McGonagall's eyes shone with pride as she shook James' hand and then went on her way leaving a thoroughly perplexed young man staring after her.

_x~x_

"Exciting, these new quills. Amazing precision. Hardly any blotching at all. Exciting. Almost everything is exciting nowadays..."

James had spotted Peter, who had probably been on his way to the Care of Magical Creatures, but had dropped his quill. He was now examining it, muttering to himself with a strangely clouded look in his eyes.

"Peter, do you know what's wrong with McGonagall?" James asked him.

"New medication," Peter answered.

"Yeah, I meant that. What medication?"

"For her nerves. She had a break-down after the flirting toilet-seat –incident yesterday. Madam Pomfrey assigned her mild tranquillisers. Exciting, nerves, they can just break..."

"Yea, excitement is all around, Pete. Listen, I have a feeling that they don't work at all." James looked at Peter strangely. Wormtail _did_ like to pretend to be more stupid than he actually was, but he never was _this_ slow around the three of his friends.

"No, they don't work, not on her. Sirius, he stole her pills and changed them for something else. That's exciting, too..." Peter kept staring at his quill as if it were the single most fascinating thing he had seen for a while.

"Very exciting, Wormtail," James cut him off. "Look- Are you feeling all right? Are you- depressed or something?"

"Depression... it's exciting..." Peter muttered as he stepped outside to go to his lesson. "Very common, these days. Rare in the old times. Nonexistent during some times... Very exciting..."

James was not sure, whether Peter's answer had confirmed or denied him being fine.

_x~x_

James ran into Remus on his way to transfiguration.

"Hey, Moony! Do you know what's wrong with Wormtail? He seemed a little... odd... when I saw him."

"Oh, yes, you wouldn't remember. Yesterday, when we were getting back from Hogsmeade, a group of Slytherins were trying to do – well, I don't really know what, just pick a fight, I guess. In the commotion, Pete was hit with a Confundus curse. Not too well cast one. Madam Pomfrey says it's not dangerous, but it'll take some time to wear off. Where were you? I didn't see you patrolling?" James was relieved to hear Remus' explanation. He had feared for Peter's sanity for a moment there.

"The Room of Requirement. Sleeping," James answered as he sat between Remus and Sirius, who was already in the classroom.

"What did you do to those Slytherins, who got at Wormtail, Padfoot?" James asked his friend.

"Me? _I_ did nothing. _I_ was dragging along a bloody heavy deer, who couldn't hold his liquor." Sirius smiled in a way that usually sent friendly old ladies fleeing fast to the opposite direction.

"Moony took care of them. They are taking a day off." Sirius' evil grin widened.

"I think we are rubbing off on the good little Prefect," he continued smugly.

"Really?" James was genuinely surprised. "Why was _Sirius_ having a detention this morning, then?" he asked Remus, who smiled guiltily.

"I got a little carried away," he explained. "And since I, as a Prefect, would've been in deep trouble for that, Sirius told McGonagall that _he_ did it." Remus looked at Sirius gratefully.

"Honestly, Pads, thanks for that. I owe you one," he said sincerely. "But you really shouldn't-"

Sirius waved his hand and smiled.

"It's nothing, Remus. McGee won't even bother to punish me too badly anymore; she knows I'm a hopeless case. So what's in the lesson plan today?" Sirius changed the subject.

"Some guest lecturer," Remus replied.

"It's today?" James put in, delighted. "Excellent. They'll dim the lights, won't they? Wake me up, when this is over."

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom and they quieted down.

"Dear students," she began. "We didn't use all of our Ministry funding last month. You know what funding is. It's the money that has to be used. But not to buy candy. Candy ruins the teeth and is fattening. Fatness leads to glaucoma, which, according to Madam Pomfrey, is extremely annoying. Besides, it is well known that the eyes are the mirror to the soul. You know what a mirror is. A reflecting looking-glass where one can see one's own face."

"Take your drugs!" Sirius yelled, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"What?" McGonagall looked nonplussed.

"Your meds, professor," Sirius said.

"Your meds, professor," McGonagall echoed. "Oh, right. Me. There they go."

She downed a couple of pills and Sirius' self-satisfied smirk grew even wider, as she continued:

"So, if all of the funding is not used, we'll receive less money in the future. That's why a very expensive man has come to talk to you today. I mean, not 'expensive' in the sense that he'd be for sale. Or I mean that he isn't exactly cheap, either. Merlin's beard! I wonder if these pills work at all. They are pure garbage!" She glared her pills and drew a deep, steadying breath.

"So, today a very expensive lecturer comes to talk to us about the importance of teamwork. I give you: Gilderoy Lockhart."

A widely smiling man in his mid-twenties marched to the front of the class and swirled around so that his perfectly curled blonde hair waved smoothly, and everyone got a full view of his expensive-looking pale-blue robes. Both Sirius and Remus sniggered evilly. James paled.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, that's him," James gasped.

"Who?"

"That's the man, who was on the morning show today. The one who made me break my Wireless. Phil Collins was _this_ close. I have to get out of here!" James' tone bordered panic.

Sirius and Remus changed a confused look. Since they had not had time to share James' hung-over explanations with each other, neither of them had completely understood James' rant. Then Sirius said soothingly:

"Come on, Jay, he can't be _that_ annoying. I mean, he is a hell of a ponce, but-" Sirius was cut off by Lockhart beginning his lecture.

"We'll talk about relationships today. School partnership is also a sort of relationship. I am going to read to you a chapter of my book. It asks: _Are We Together a Twosome, Or Are the Two Of Us a One Some_?"

The entire was reduced to a state of shocked wordlessness. Then Sirius, who looked like he was going to be sick, hissed to James: "Ok, go, go, go, go!"

James stood up. Thank Merlin they were sitting in the back.

"I've got to go. Don't say anything before I'm through that door."

Lockhart's snow-white teeth reflected sunlight as he smiled to James.

"This is completely voluntary, young man. You are always allowed to dare."

"Right, you've already said something," James said and fled from the classroom.

"An exciting negation, he's got," Lockhart pointed out to the rest of the class.

_x~x_

James had once again sought refuge in an empty classroom, where he sat in a corner, curled to a ball, as Lockhart walked in.

"Why didn't you want to listen to my lecture?"

James groaned and covered his ears.

"Away! Go away!" he whimpered.

"Did you know that a lot of people who close their ears want to open their eyes?" Lockhart asked pleasantly.

"Yes, I know, I understand everything. Now, please, please, _please_, go. You have no idea what kind of damage you can do to me. And to the world."

Lockhart was completely oblivious to the fact that a person, who was sitting hunched in a corner with his hands over his ears, begging for him to leave, probably did not desire his company.

"I can't leave a person who's in pain. You are all curled up, little friend. You have to dare to dare," Lockhart placed his hand on James' shoulder. James flinched and pleaded:

"I have a Phil Collins hang-over. You have the ability to trigger it. Soon everyone'll look like you. I'm losing control. Go, please, go! Don't say anything anymore, it's one word away, _go_!"

McGonagall, who had apparently heard James' pleas, peeked into the classroom. She looked at James with an annoyed look on her face.

"Why are you sitting in here?" she asked irritably. Then she noticed Lockhart and her expression lightened up.

"Thank you for the lecture, it really broadened my mind. I've never realised how curled up I actually was. Now I can dare again. To be a teacher. And a human."

Lockhart smiled radiantly to McGonagall and turned to leave the classroom with her. By the door he looked back at James and said:

"Listen, I'll throw out one for you. Why do you think you mess up your hair all the time?"

James' mind snapped and he screamed inwardly. In addition to the real Gilderoy Lockhart standing by the door, there was another Lockhart next to him, dressed as professor McGonagall. James screamed audibly this time and pushed past the two Lockharts, running as fast as he could.

_x~x_

AN1: Review. Please.


	3. On the Unhappy Cloud Nine

Disclaimer: I still don't own HP or Pasila.

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**Chapter 3 - On the Unhappy Cloud Nine**

Unfortunately, James was greatly weakened by his hang-over and therefore not much of a sprinter. He leaned heavily on the wall and tried not to throw up on the McGonagall-Lockhart's shoes. She had followed him and she was clearly not amused by her Head Boy's behaviour.

"Potter, you'll go patrolling, now! We shall arrange your detention later"

James racked his brain for a suitable reason why he should be relieved from his duties for today.

"I don't feel well. I'd better go back to sleep. Sick leave. I can't face people."

"A mere hang-over is what the man has. A useless Head Boy. Well, go ahead, then. But next week you'll work triple time amongst your detentions"

James managed not to kiss his professor out of gratitude.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered to McGonagall before heading off as fast as was possible without being too rude.

_x~x_

"Okay, calm down," James muttered to himself. "You've had food; you've got a day off. Now, you'll get back to the tower and hide in the dormitory till tomorrow."

James was stuck in a crowd of fifth-year Gilderoy Lockharts, who were waiting for their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. The corridor was completely blocked, so James had to slow down and pick his way through the badly organised bunch. Normally he would have just told the people to make way before he took off points or hexed them, but today he was simply lacked the energy. Besides he was not entirely sure whether anyone would have taken him seriously as he was busy staring at his shoes to avoid seeing a corridor full of Lockharts.

"Do you know why Madam Puddifoot's doesn't sell raspberry pie anymore?" A whiney nasal voice gnawed its way to James' consciousness.

"Yeah, it's been withdrawn," some girl muttered absent-mindedly.

"Well, I _knew_ that. That's why I asked _why_."

"People didn't really buy it." The whiney's partner in conversation sounded like she would rather be swallowing live flobberworms than talk to him. "Plus it tasted awful. Plus children died of it, or so the legend goes."

"Well, people_ did _buy it, then. She would've had a buying customer, here. I would've wanted that pie. Is that not buying, what? Am I not a customer, what?" The boy was obviously not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

"It's not really in my power to decide. Would you mind dropping the business?"

"Of course I would. If I didn't, I wouldn't be talking about it. A stupid answer to a stupid question."

James felt a vein explode.

"That's it," he hissed. "Let's go, you."

"Who the hell are _you_?" the whiney asked. The girl he had been talking to seized to opportunity to vanish to the background.

James could not believe his ears. _Who was he?_ Did that nasal-voiced imbecile honestly not _recognise_ _him_?

"James Potter, the Head Boy. You annoy me like hell right now. Take your things and come. You're in for a detention." James grabbed the boy by a shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," the whiney said hostilely and slapped James.

A bad move, as it turned out. James, who had built up his strength in Quidditch and monthly werewolf-wrestling, hit the whiney as hard as he possibly could. The rest of the students were busy looking elsewhere as James dragged the now unconscious source of his irritation along the corridor.

_x~x_

"This is against the rules," the whiney complained as James walked him on by a wand point.

James rolled his eyes. He was _breaking_ the _rules_. Oh dear.

"You hit the Head Boy," James answered through clenched teeth and jabbed him with his wand.

"Well you gave me detention already before that."

"I really don't have time to think about your problems right now. So shut up. Grow as a person. Cut your own throat. Go to the Moon." James paused to think for a moment. "No, wait, the muggles did that already. But cut your own throat, here's a knife." He conjured a scary-looking butcher's knife and offered it to the whiney the sharp edge first, nearly cutting off his ear.

"Don't bloody hell," the whiney squealed, voice rising with at least two octaves. "Put away, that!"

James paused to think again. Then, he vanished the knife.

"It's starting to get a bit scary, this thing what I'm doing," he muttered.

"Well, yes it is!" The whiney was rather pale and eyeing James with a look of mixture fear and anger.

"Oh, so you think so too?"

"Hell, yeah!"

"All right, then. Go in there," James said to the whiney flatly, pointing at a broom cupboard.

"What? You can't-" The boy's complaints were cut off by James, who unceremoniously shoved him in the cupboard and slammed the door shut.

"Keep him there for a few hours, will you?" James said to Peter quietly. "I've got to go back to the dormitory." He waited for Peter to nod, thanked him and then he was off again.

"Abuse of power in a system of justice," Peter muttered, fascinated. "It's sure exciting..."

"Potter!"

James groaned. It could not be McGonagall _again_.

"Firstly, intoxicated have you been at school."

"We've already had this conversation," James pointed out.

McGonagall ignored him.

"Secondly, you were late and skipped a class. Why do you have your eyes closed?"

"Got sand in my eyes," James lied. A Lockhart-faced McGonagall yelling at him was something he did_ not_ want to see.

"Thirdly, why did you shut an innocent person in a broom cupboard? Nothing he had done."

Normally the stern transfiguration professor would probably have blown through the roof if she saw James locking students in cupboard, but now she seemed to be merely irritated as she waited for him to answer.

"Oh, nothing, is that so?" James huffed. "He hit me! Hitting the Head Boy _was _against the rules, when I last checked!"

"When did you check?" McGonagall asked with completely straight face. "Might have changed, that rule."

"What?"

"Rules change quickly," McGonagall said calmly. "The world changes. Pace quickens. People change, grow older. Become demented. Start to stray from the subject. Talk about strange things. Blabber and blabber. The boy standing next to me stares with confusion. There will be no end to the talking. Sentences follow one another. Embarrassing situations. Do have mercy and interrupt!"

McGonagall's tone had become more panicked by the second.

"Medication, professor," James said dully.

"Don't work, these pills. I'll get along without them." She downed a few, anyway. "Strictly I'll stick to the business. What were we talking about?"

James kept telling himself that he honestly did not want to know, _what_ exactly Sirius had done with McGonagall's tranquillisers.

"We talked about how I shut an innocent person in a broom cupboard, professor."

"Oh really?" McGonagall's eyes widened in outrage. "Why did you do that?"

"He annoyed me. He's one of those people, who are a danger to themselves. Sooner or later, he'll get himself killed by the Quidditch pitch." James had a feeling that his professor might not appreciate his reasoning. On the other hand, the feeling might just have been a side-effect of his agonizing headache.

"You are more deranged than I am!" she snapped, destroying James' side-effect -theory. "Now, release him at once!"

"Yes, professor," James sighed.

_x~x_

"Dawlish! What's the meaning of this? Why aren't you on your lesson?" Snape's voice lashed out.

"It wasn't my fault!" the whiney, apparently by the name of Dawlish, complained.

"How come?" Snape sneered. "Ten points from Ravenclaw."

"That's not fair! _He_ stopped me from going." Dawlish pointed at James, who was leaning against a wall in total despair, his eyes closed again.

Snape glared at James and slid his wand out of his pocket. He had not even noticed his nemesis due to his uncharacteristically subdued behaviour.

"Not my problem, Dawlish. Another ten points from Ravenclaw, for disrespect towards a Prefect."

"Would you just drop it, Snape?" James groaned, still facing the wall. He honestly did not know what he would do, if he was subjected to nasal-sounds for a minute longer.

"You Potter, keep your filthy mouth shut!" Snape snarled as his curse swept James' feet from beneath him.

The sound of Potter's head making contact with the stone floor was the most musical thing Severus could recall hearing in quite a long time.

James' temper flared again. He tried to ignore the infernal throbbing in his head born from the mixture of already painful hang-over and hitting his forehead to the floor, as he ducked Snape's second curse. Dawlish had displayed a remarkable lack of self-preservation skills by remaining between James and Snape. He regretted it almost immediately, since a stray curse from Snape hit him and his ears promptly sprouted eggplants. James' leg-locker curse was more accurate, and Snape fell to the floor, losing his wand in the process. Wide-eyed Dawlish sprinted to the direction of the hospital-wing, while James started hauling colourfully swearing Snape towards the broom cupboard.

_x~x_

"You shut a _Prefect_ in that closet, then."

James stared. Was McGonagall following him around?

"No. Well, yes," McGonagall answered, and James realised he had been muttering his thoughts aloud. Luckily, McGonagall did not press the subject.

"Why did you close Mr. Snape in that cupboard?"

"He's a ticking time-bomb," James grumbled.

"That's not against the rules."

"It should be! Sooner or later, he's going to kill someone by the Quidditch pitch." James held back a derisive snort. If anyone in this school was on his way of becoming a bloodthirsty Death Eater, it would be Snape.

"Now you'll go and release him at once. By Merlin, weren't you supposed to go back to bed, already?"

"I have been on my way all the time." James moaned desperately.

McGonagall followed James to ensure that he really would release Snape from the broom cupboard. If looks were curses, the house-elves would have had to mop James' remains from the floor, but since McGonagall was still present, the seething Slytherin had to slip quietly to the dungeons to plot his revenge.

A member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who had apparently been watching for quite some time, approached James, probably fearing for his captain's sanity.

"James, hey, you've closed two people in a broom cupboard without any reason. Do you have a bad day or something? Cap'n, hey, talk to me, I'll listen. Tell me what's on your mind."

Okay, maybe the newest member of the team was not as much concerned as he was kissing up to James.

"Well, hell yeah, I have a bad day!" James snapped, nailing the poor kid where he stood with a furious look. "If you only knew how much you and everyone else look like one fucking annoying-"

James chocked on his rant as he realised that he was not looking at yet another Lockhart-clone, but a somewhat startled third-year. Despite his still-throbbing head and violent waves of nausea, he did a little happy-dance.

"It can't be true!" he exclaimed. "It's over! It's over! Phil Collins is over! Yes!" James' smile was so euphoric that it was disturbing. "How exceptionally pleasant feeling, this is..." James shook hands with his now truly concerned Seeker and practically skipped towards the stairs.

Behind him, he heard David the Seeker saying:

"Hey, weren't you on the Wireless today? My mother's read your book."

James felt happiness drain from him faster than near a Dementor. He squealed in terror.

"That's great." Lockhart flashed a sparkling white smile at David. "What did you mean with that noise?" he asked, closing his hand around James' arm not unlike a shackle.

"Nothing," James said, his eyes, once again, tightly shut. "Let me go."

"You are the one that doesn't listen," Lockhart recognised James.

"Yes, let me go, let me go, let me go!" James started to panic.

Completely oblivious Lockhart grasped James' shoulder with his free hand in a would-be friendly fashion.

"It's _sad_, when a person doesn't _listen_."

"Yes, it is. Now, let me go! _Now!_" James ripped himself free and sprinted up the stairs.

_x~x_

James was _so_ close to freedom. Lockhart was obviously not in very good physical condition, because, despite his rather feeble state, James had already put a reasonable distance between the two of them. Then he slipped on the remains of Sirius' paint-bomb and stumbled backwards – locking his leg in a trick step.

"Dammit!" James nearly screamed, cursing every deity and demon in existence. He would skin his idiot for a best friend alive for this.

"Do you know, what my book says about swearing?" James could _feel_ that smile burn a hole in his back.

"I don't know. Go. Away."

"Swearing is a safe way to say to another: 'I care about you'."

"It isn't safe at Hogwarts." James struggled violently to pull his leg free.

Lockhart was evidently not going to have mercy on him. Instead of helping James up, he pulled out a shiny leather-bound book.

"I'll read to you a chapter of my book _Sometimes It Is Good to Climb a Mountain_. This chapter is called: _Are We Together a Twosome, Or Are the Two of Us a One Some?_"

_Dear Merlin, please, this can't be happening. Kill me, Voldemort, anyone!_ Panicking thoughts surged through James' mind. Lockhart opened his book, smiling serenely to the boy who was forced to listen to him at last.

"'One of my earliest relationships was based entirely on symbiosis. The word in itself may sound dreadful, and that it, of course, is. Symbiosis, that hawk of all hawks, wolf of all wolves...'"

James passed the narrow line between hyperventilation and outright psychosis. Phil Collins –hang-over was violently renewed and he actually started to see multiple Lockharts even though the corridor was empty save for them two. James ripped his leg free from the staircase, and with a mad glint in his eyes, he snatched Lockhart in an improvised half-nelson and started to drag the protesting blonde up the stairs.

_x~x_

"This has got to be illegal! Or at least against the school rules!" Lockhart wailed with what little breath he had left.

"Yea, right," James panted as he pushed the source of his annoyance to the alcove on the top of the Astronomy tower. "I think we ought to stay up here for a while and think things through."

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Lockhart finally seemed to realise that James was not craving for his company, and he obviously found that hard to understand.

"You have ruined my whole day and unhinged me completely," James shouted. "You'll get to fix it now! I haven't been able to work a second today. I have assaulted harmless arseholes. I broke my Wireless. And that's all your fault! I have a horrible hang-over! And when my professor's medication kicks in again I'll be sure to get expelled! We are about as close as we'll get to climbing a mountain, now. So what shall we do?" James found it curiously therapeutic to yell out his frustration to the cause of it.

Good humour and mild astonishment vanished from Lockhart's face and were replaced with anger of a man wronged and betrayed. He obviously considered James' dislike of him at least an Azkaban-worthy offence.

"If you think I'm so annoying, why don't you just leave me alone?"

James' jaw dropped

"Me leave you alone? Why don't _you_ leave _me_ alone?"

"Because you are so pathetic!"

"_You_ are pathetic!" James felt like pulling out his hair.

"Stop messing up your hair! It's terrible enough already. Do something useful!" Lockhart snapped angrily.

James fell ominously silent.

"Yeah," he said quietly. Strangely enough, I, too, feel like that would be a good move right now."

Lockhart did not even have time to blink before James' fist made contact with his face, and he fell against the doorframe, spluttering blood. Then James grabbed the man by the front of his expensive silken robes, ripping them in the process, and proceeded to throw him down the stairs.

_x~x_

AN1: You know, what I want you to do.


	4. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

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**Epilogue** **− The Morning After the Morning-After**

"Potter, I'd like an explanation for a couple of things." McGonagall's voice was sharp and utterly devoid of yesterday's incoherence. "Firstly, yesterday you failed to punish several blatant rule-breakings."

"They did probably mend their ways" James muttered, quite positive that Sirius had not done so.

"Secondly, in addition to that, you took wrongly advantage of your position as a Head Boy and shut two people in a boom cupboard." Professor's tone was more cutting than James could recall hearing for a long time… Since the fifth year, to be precise. He hoped that the maimed Lockhart had not complained to McGonagall.

"They were dangerous to themselves," he tried to explain. "They'll kill each other behind the Greenhouses. No, wait, it was by the Quidditch pitch. Well, somewhere."

"They had done nothing! You are an inch away from expulsion, Potter, you have been warned often enough!"

"Listen, I had a Phil Collins –hang-over." James ignored a voice in his head (which sounded surprisingly much like Remus) that told him that in certain situations it would be wiser to shut up.

"It's a horrible state. I was trying to protect myself. And finally, I faced my demons and beat the hell out of them. I let myself really dare! And I feel wonderful! Look at me. An undamaged man. Not a scratch on my soul. Give me one more chance." James smiled charmingly to McGonagall, who seemed to be on the point of blowing up with rage.

"Come on...fuck...screw..."A cacophony of angry voices, pulled McGonagall's attention from James just before she could carry out the staff's long-lasting desire of disemboweling him with a wooden spoon.

"How dare you filthy mini-Death Eater-"

"Muggle-loving scum, I-"

"What _is_ the meaning of this?" McGonagall practically screamed.

A Ravenclaw Prefect, who was holding back Dawlish, spoke before Remus, who struggled with Snape.

"We had to break these two apart," she explained. "They were beating each other up by the Quidditch pitch."

"Behave yourselves, at once!" McGonagall snapped before Snape and Dawlish could lash out at each other again. They froze on the spot. "I can't believe your behaviour. Get into my office. Right now! Mr. Lupin, Miss Bones, accompany them."

McGonagall drew a steadying breath, swallowed a couple of pills and turned back to James.

"How's your medication, professor?" he asked politely, hoping to further distract her from his misgivings.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me new pills. What's going on? Was I going to expel you?" She blinked around little uncertainly.

"Yes- I mean no. No, you weren't. Whatever made you think about doing such a thing," James said quickly.

"Wasn't I just going to expel you for doing something to those two?" McGonagall frowned.

"Not at all." James had no idea why the new medication had this effect too, but he was not complaining. Perhaps McGonagall was allergic to some of the ingredients.

"You shut them in a broom cupboard, because you said they were dangerous to themselves."

"They _were_ dangerous to themselves, professor"

"You claimed that they'll end up fighting by the Quidditch pitch," she accused.

"They _were_ fighting by the Quidditch pitch just a moment ago." James could not believe his luck.

"Erm- Why don't I have a former memory of this?" McGonagall muttered, looking puzzled.

James shrugged. Maybe the Universe was trying to make up to him for the yesterday's traumatic experiences.

McGonagall fixed her eyes on James.

"Are you sure I wasn't going to expel you?"

"Why would you do that, professor?" James feigned surprise.

"Well, at least you were hung over yesterday."

James saw Sirius wink at him from the other end of the corridor. Now, he should have known...

"No, I wasn't," James said, discreetly mouthing a silent 'thank you' to his best friend.

"You weren't?"

"No." James held back an evil grin. "You were, professor."

"Me?" McGonagall's eyes were wide as saucers.

"Yes. You were, so to say, completely wasted yesterday. You can't obviously even remember."

"Yes, that's right." McGonagall's addled brain ate up James' explanation. "I can recall nothing of yesterday."

"That's the alcohol," James said as-a-matter-of-factly. How on Earth had Sirius managed to tamper with these pills, as well? Had he done something to the entire stock?

"Could you, Potter, not tell anybody about this," McGonagall's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Yeah, I think I'll manage that, professor."

"We are going to cover this up."

"Okay."

"Will cover it up." McGonagall took another pill, nodding furiously.

"Cover up, professor."

"We'll turn a blind eye to this."

"A blind eye, exactly, professor." Honestly, he should tell Sirius that drugging people was not strictly speaking legal. And maybe ask for the ingredients as well, just for the sake of the security of the rest of Hogwarts, naturally.

"I'll walk away with this," McGonagall rambled on.

"Yes, er, I'll have to go to Potions now, professor," James muttered, slipping away from her to follow Sirius to the dungeons. Now, if they would somehow manage to feed those pills to the entire school...

Professor McGonagall, apparently oblivious to the fact that James had left, kept on talking:

"Walking away with no punishment. A covered up walker. A blind eye looks at the covered up walker. A guy walks away. That can be seen with an eye. But not a blind one." She blinked.

"Dammit, these pills aren't working, either!" she hissed angrily, marching towards the hospital wing.

_x~x_

AN1: The End. I would really appreciate feedback. _Any_ feedback.


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